They had an alarm that night that the Okky-men were coming. Into the blank silence of sleep there came the roar of a heavy charge of black trade powder as a sentry discharged his dew-filled flintlock. The whites, the Portuguese, and the tired factory boys roused into instant wakefulness. Their nerves were too nicely set to need a second shaking.
Laura met Carter in pyjamas as he was in the act of thumping upon her bedroom door. "Oh, you have got up," he said. "That's good. Well, don't show a light whilst you dress, and keep under shelter. I must just wake Miss O'Neill before I go down."
She put her arms round his neck and pulled him to her and kissed him violently. "You came for me first then, after all?"
"You little goose, of course I did. Wives first, employers next. Here, I must go, or the battle will be over before I'm down. The odds are those heroes are blazing away at nothing."
They were. Each black man as he came up to the palisade poked the muzzle of his gun through a loophole, pulled trigger, and drew comfort from the din. Presently Carter came up to the breastwork, climbed to the banquette, and leaned over, and then peered long and hard through the night. He could see nothing. He got down, and with trouble found the sentry who had fired first. When he had thumped the man into calmness, it turned out that he had seen nothing also. He had "thought ju-ju" and then his gun "lib for shoot by himself." Or in plainer English, the man had dozed with his hand round his gun lock to keep the damp from the priming; he had been struck by a nightmare and had pulled the trigger. He had aimed at nothing. His gun muzzle had been upright, and he "lib for shoot dem moon."
Cascaes, the Portuguese, came up with a Winchester under his arm in time to hear the end of this explanation. "The negro like-a some noise, eh, senhor?"
"What about yourself?" asked Carter uncivilly. "Haven't you been joining in? I suppose you're first cousin to these fellows, anyway."
Cascaes put a little finger down the muzzle of his rifle, wiped it round, lit a match, and showed that the finger was clean.
"Oh, I beg pardon," said Carter. "I thought you were likely to share in the local revels."
"Well," said the Portuguese thoughtfully, "I suppose I must count that an apology. Otherwise I should have shot you. Good-night, senhor."